


Foolish Trust

by dark_fantasy



Series: Bound [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Chastity Device, Gags, Impact Play, Impersonation, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Piercing, Tricked, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_fantasy/pseuds/dark_fantasy
Summary: When Derek asks Stiles to help him investigate a club where supernaturals physically dominate humans, Stiles goes along with it because he trusts Derek. But the longer they are there, the less Derek seems to be acting like Derek. Trapped in a world of bondage and violence, it's too late for Stiles to back out now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not going to be a nice fic. Bad things happen. There will be violence and rape. 
> 
> It is also not really a Sterek fic. There is another character involved who I will add to the tag once their identity gets revealed in the story.

Stiles stared at his phone in disbelief, at the message that was displayed there and at the name attached to it in his contacts. _I'm back in town but don't tell the others yet. If you have some time, come to the loft. I might need your help with something._ It was from Derek. It wasn't just the name on the screen telling him that; no one else sent perfectly punctuated text messages. 

Derek was back in Beacon Hills and he wanted to see Stiles. He didn't want the others to know but he wanted Stiles. Of all the people he could ask for, why him? It must be a research thing. It was always a research thing. When someone needed to hit the books, people turned to Stiles and there was no other reason, however much Stiles might want there to be, that Derek would call on him like this. 

There was never any doubt that Stiles would go. The last time he'd seen Derek had been shortly after he'd got stabbed in the stomach and Stiles had been convinced he was going to die. Then Derek had recovered by magic and disappeared off somewhere with barely a word, leaving Stiles drowning in feelings he couldn't address and didn't know how to deal with. Not that he would be dealing with them now, most likely. He'd go to the loft, helping Derek with a bit of googling, and then they would go their separate ways. But at least Stiles would get to see that Derek was OK. At least he'd get some reassurance. 

He sent a quick reply and headed over there, climbing the stairs to the loft with a sense of anxiety that rose with every step. What if Derek wasn't alright? What if he was hurt again? What if he'd called Stiles to say goodbye because he was dying? Stiles was sure Derek could hear his frantic heartbeat a mile away, but there wasn't much he could do about that. 

He reached the upper landing and Derek opened the loft's door to let him in, offering a smile that was a little unusual. It took Stiles a moment to place why: Derek seemed nervous. Stiles' heart fluttered a little as his overactive imagination furnished him with an idea for why Derek might be nervous. A ridiculous idea. Stiles didn't honestly believe Derek could reciprocate his feelings and it would be better if he didn't even consider the notion. 

"Hi, Stiles," Derek said. 

"Hey. So you don't write, you don't call, and then all of a sudden it's 'bam! Stiles, I need some help'." Stiles tried to keep his tone light. He tried not to let the bitterness seep in. 

"I needed to," Derek turned away, pacing slightly in the near-empty loft. "I needed time to heal, to come to terms with everything that's happened to me." 

"How's that working out for you?" 

"Good. Pretty good. I still have my issues but I'm getting better." 

"Good," Stiles said. "I'm glad." He was utterly sincere in his words and he hoped Derek knew that. As upset as Stiles had been about Derek leaving, he could hardly blame the guy for needing to put some distance between himself and this hell town. Derek had been through enough shit for ten lifetimes and if he needed time to heal, then no one could begrudge him that. But that left the major question of why Derek would come back, when any sensible person would take up residence on the opposite side of the world. Stiles went for the direct approach and asked him. 

"I heard rumours," Derek replied, "about an establishment in Beacon Hills that might be..." 

"Might be what?" 

"It's an establishment for supernaturals who have a taste for dominating humans." 

"Dominating?" 

"The rumous I've heard have been extremely worrying but the information I've found is vague. It's possible that what goes on there is entirely consensual. There are certainly humans who find the idea of being pinned by a werewolf to be," Derek looked nervous again, clearing his throat and not meeting Stiles' gaze. He finished, "kinky." 

"But you're not sure?" Stiles said. 

"No. If they are torturing and raping humans, they'd hardly advertise it. I need more information." 

"So you want me to get my research on and dig up some dirt on this place?" 

"Not exactly. I want to get inside. I want to see what goes on in there for myself, scent out the humans, see if they're scared or excited by what's happening to them." 

"So you get inside, have a little sniff around, pick up the emotional vibes, and you know whether we need to arm up and take this place down." 

"That's about it," Derek said. 

"And I fit into this picture, how?" Stiles had a fair idea but he needed Derek to actually say it. 

"You'd be my ticket in. They don't know me and they're likely to be suspicious, but if I show up with a human pet in tow, they'll let me in." 

Stiles' mind was racing to process this idea, and the thoughts that went along with it. Thoughts of Derek dominating him. Thoughts of Derek pinning him down and pounding into him roughly. Stiles tried to stop those thoughts in their tracks, knowing how good Derek was at picking up scents. From the amused smirk on Derek's face, Stiles guessed he hadn't been quick enough. 

"I wouldn't let anyone else touch you," Derek said. "Werewolves are very territorial and sensitive about scent. It'll be easy to convince whoever's there that I don't want anyone else's scent on you. I wouldn't let anyone else hurt you, I promise, but I don't know what you might see. If this idea scares you, you can just say no and I'll find another way inside." 

The idea should scare him. If Stiles was remotely rational, he'd run away at top speed, but right now he was having a hard time thinking with anything that wasn't residing in his pants. Derek would have to act territorial about him, would have to claim him. And there was that question of trust. Derek hadn't asked it in so many words, but it was underlying all his comments about keeping Stiles safe. Derek wanted to know if Stiles trusted him and of course Stiles did. After everything they'd been through, how could he not? Even if the place was packed full of sadistic supernaturals who would love to rip him to shreds, Stiles would probably be safer there than anywhere else in the world, so long as Derek was by his side. 

"I trust you," Stiles said. "I'll do it."


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles struggled with the outfit Derek had acquired for him. The trade-off for being covered up was that he would have to be in bondage. He would have to play the part of Derek's pet and they would take that literally. Stiles would go into this place bound so that no one would question that he was submitting to Derek. He would also go in there gagged, because a stray sarcastic remark could potentially get them both killed. Stiles wasn't happy about that particular part of the plan but he understood Derek's point and he agreed to it because he didn't want to risk anything bad happening to Derek because of his appalling lack of left control. 

Derek had obviously planned this all out. He might not know the details of what went on inside, but he'd learned enough to get them through the door and, for Stiles, that meant a leather catsuit that zipped up the front. It was far too tight. Even without any additional bondage, but the time he'd got it on he could barely move. It also didn't cover a couple of crucial parts. A hole at the groin allowed his genitals to dangle out the front, while another gave access to his asshole. Stiles emerged from the bathroom covering himself with his hands as best he could. Derek's eyes took in the sight of him, lingering on that point of exposure. 

"I'm sorry about that," Derek said, "but we have to make it look real. Don't worry, I've got some things to make sure no one can take advantage." 

The first thing looked like a jockstrap made of metal, with a tube on the inside. It was obvious what was meant to go in there. 

"A chastity device?" Stiles asked. 

"It will keep you covered and even if something happens to me, no will be tempted to do anything to you if that's blocking their way." 

It was logical and, after all, Stiles wouldn't be able to spend the whole time trying to shield his cock from view. He slid his dick into the tube, carefully positioning his balls on either side. The metal edges had rubber linings to prevent them being horrifically uncomfortable, but Stiles was glad he wouldn't be expected to wear this thing for more than a night. He finally got everything positioned in such a way that he thought he'd be able to cope with wearing this thing, and then he closed the metal band around his waist. It snapped shut with a click. There were a pair of chains on the underside of the belt that Stiles pulled between his legs and up his ass to click into place on the waistband. Once they were in place, the whole contraption was snug against his body. Experimentally, Stiles tried tugging at the edges, tried sliding a finger underneath, but there was no way he could reach his genitals. They were trapped. 

"The next piece," Derek said, holding up a rubber item. Stiles had watched enough porn to recognise it as a butt plug, but this one had a rubber tail sticking out of it. Stiles raised a questioning eyebrow. "You are going to be my pet after all," Derek explained. 

Stiles took the plug and a tube of lube back into the bathroom because this was embarrassing enough without doing it in front of Derek. He spread his legs and bent forward, squeezing a generous amount of lube on his fingers and then reaching round to finger his own ass. He'd played with his ass before, but he'd never stuck anything other than a finger up there. The plug was only about an inch wide at its widest point, but still Stiles was nervous about putting it inside. He'd have to wear it and that ridiculous tail in front of people. 

At least no one would know who he was. 

When he started sliding the plug inside, his cock tried to stir to life and the chastity belt felt like a vice keeping it crushed. Stiles tried to think unsexy thoughts as he pushed the plug into place, but it was hard not to think of this as something sexual, hard not to be aware of Derek in the other room. Maybe, once this was over, Stiles could convince Derek to take the plug's place. 

Stiles returned to the main room to find Derek getting more leather items ready. He smiled a little to see the plug in place, and Stiles' cock fought against its imprisonment once again. 

"Give me your hands," Derek said, holding up something that looked a bit like a boxing glove. The glove held Stiles' hand in a tight fist and once Derek had both of them buckled into place, it would be almost impossible for Stiles to get them off, even before the padlocks that Derek slipped through the cuffs. 

"Are the padlocks strictly necessary?" Stiles asked. 

"I don't want anyone else getting the idea of taking anything off you and forcing you to do something." 

There was logic to that, and it wasn't like they made any difference to Stiles given that he couldn't unbuckle them anyway. It was weird having the gloves on though. He was so used to fidgeting, his hands constantly in motion, that he only noticed it now that he couldn't move his fingers at all. He could move his arms, but the mitts felt cumbersome and every moment he was reminded of how out of control he was. He was getting more concerned about this with each new loss of control, but he was doing this for Derek. He could trust Derek. 

And maybe, afterwards, he could remind Derek that he was over eighteen now and that there would be no legal consequences should they decided to put some of this equipment to more playful use. 

Derek locked a collar around Stiles' neck. It wasn't so tight as to restrict breathing, but it was tight enough to be a constant pressure against his throat. Stiles reached up automatically to try and tug it, to try and get a bit more room, but all he accomplished was hitting himself in the jaw because of the padding around his fist. Derek tried to hide the smirk at that as he clipped a chain leash to a ring at the front of the collar. 

"If you laugh," Stiles said, "I will be making dog jokes about you until the end of time. Do you understand me?" 

"Well, we can't have that," Derek replied. "In fact, we can't have any jokes at all." 

He lifted up the face mask, which included a gag. Stiles swallowed, nervousness resurging. He nodded his permission, even though he hated the thought of this. He didn't want to give up his ability to speak. His voice was such an important part of his identity. He was the guy who was sarcastic, who talked smack to the bad guys, who made sure his opinion was known at all times. The enforced silence might have been arousing under other circumstances, but the thought of going into a space full of potentially hostile supernatural creatures without even the ability to say mean things about them, that was less than appealing. 

The mask was made of leather that fitted snuggly against Stiles' face, wrapping under his chin and covering everything except his nostrils and eyes. Its internal gag was a rubber intruder that looked more than a little phallic but which wasn't long enough to trigger a gag reflex, though it was more than big enough to fill Stile's mouth uncomfortably, trapping his tongue beneath it. Stiles tried a few experimental words, but all that emerged were unintelligible noises. Derek laced the mask closed and tucked the laces beneath the collar, leaving Stiles effectively silenced. 

"We're nearly done," Derek said, picking up a couple of leather straps. "I'll put these on at the car to make the trip downstairs easier." 

Stiles wasn't sure what those straps were for. He couldn't get much more restricted. His hands and mouth were already useless. Unless Derek planned on tying him up so thoroughly he couldn't walk, Stiles didn't see what... The thought struck. Pet. Stiles was going in there as Derek's pet and pets didn't usually walk on two legs. It made sense that Derek hadn't applied the straps up here because there were a lot of flights of stairs down to where Derek would have parked his car. Stiles wouldn't want to go down those stairs on his hands and knees, because that was undoubtedly what would be expected of him once they reached their destination. Stiles wouldn't even be able to run away once they got there. 

Once at the car, Derek opened the trunk. Stiles looked into it in confusion, seeing it empty. 

"I can't exactly drive with you in the passenger seat," Derek said. "Don't worry. It's not far." 

Stiles climbed into the trunk, Derek's hand on his elbow to help him, and then he lay down on his side so that Derek could add the final straps, bands of leather that bound his calves to his thighs, making it impossible for him to straighten his legs. He was well and truly helpless now. 

Derek reached in and put a hand on Stiles' arm, the feel of it muted by the leather between them. 

"Once we arrive," Derek said, "I'll have to be in character. There could be others there with supernatural hearing and we can't give away that we're there to spy on them. I will have to act like I belong there. Just remember that I won't let anyone there touch you. That's a promise. I promise, I will get you out of there and no one but me will have so much as touched you. You understand?" 

Stiles nodded. Derek wouldn't make a promise like that unless he meant it, and Derek had been through enough trying to protect Stiles in the past that he couldn't doubt him now. Stiles was going to be OK. If he could have smiled or said something through the mask, he would have done. But all he could do was give that nod. Derek gave him what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile and then shut the trunk, trapping Stiles in darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles wasn't sure how long he was in the darkness, feeling the vibration of the engine, the bumps in the road, the turns the car made. He tried not to think about how awful the place they were going might be. What would he see in there? Torture? Rape? Or would it just be a bunch of people having kinky, consensual fun? 

He tried to focus on that possibility, imagining what he and Derek might do to blend in, letting fantasy drive away fear and boredom for a time, but then he worried about his thoughts going too far in that direction because Derek might smell it as soon as he opened the trunk. So his thoughts cycled back to fear again. What if someone realised they were intruders? What if they captured Derek and took him as a prize? What if he'd experienced freedom for the last time? Stiles told himself that was ridiculous, because Derek wouldn't have brought him here if he thought there was any real danger. Derek wouldn't do anything to hurt him and Stiles had to trust that. 

It felt like forever before the car came to a stop and the engine stilled. There was a long pause, where the seconds seemed to stretch into eternity and Stiles wondered if he was going to be left here, but then the trunk opened and Derek was there, face an unreadable mask. 

Derek didn't say a word, didn't offer a trace of comfort, just reached in and grabbed Stiles by the waist, hauling him out of the trunk and putting him unceremoniously down on the tarmac of a parking lot. Stiles barely had a moment to get a glimpse of a row of expensive cars and a building that looked like a converted warehouse, then Derek was slamming shut the trunk and grabbing hold of the leash. 

"Come along, pet," Derek said, not cruelly but without any trace of kindness either. Derek started walking towards the entrance and Stiles was forced to follow, struggling along on knees and fists. The leather provided padding between his skin and the rough ground, but it was difficult to keep up the brisk pace that Derek set. Stiles had to focus on where he was putting his limbs to avoid being pulled over. 

Then they were at the door, a pair of bouncers or guards standing on either side. Stiles could see black pants and heavy boots but couldn't see much above the knees without straining himself and he was afraid that might draw attention. So Stiles instead look at the metal door in front of them, which looked heavy and daunting. 

"I've not seen you here before," one of the men said. 

"I've heard good things about this place," Derek said. "I thought I should bring my pet and check it out." 

There was a rustle of paper and movement above Stiles' head. He guessed that there was some money being exchanged, because a few moments later the other man said, "Very good, sir. Go right ahead. Bar and public play is on the first floor. The shop and tattoo parlour is on the second. Private playrooms in the basement. If your pet's a screamer, keep any rough play to the basement. We don't want anyone asking about the noise." 

"Thanks for the warning," Derek said, "but I like to keep him gagged." 

The door opened and Derek was moving again, tugging the leash. Stiles followed into a short corridor that led to a stairwell. Music was spilling through from a door to their right and that was the direction Derek headed. The space beyond was a sea of tables, chairs, and people's legs, but even from his crawling position, Stiles could see that there were others in restraints. There were others crawling or kneeling behind their masters. Most showed considerably more skin than Stiles, including one who was naked apart from a penis ring which his lead was attached to, but there was one figure head-to-toe in rubber including a corset so tight Stiles wouldn't have believed it anatomically possible. 

Stiles had faltered as he stared about him, and had to be yanked forward by a sharp tug on the leash. He hurried to keep up with Derek as they crossed to a bar. There Stiles could sit back into a kneeling position while Derek slid onto a stool. Stiles got another look around. The nearby area looked, aside from the unusual clientele, like an ordinary bar, but towards the edges of the room were other pieces of furniture. There was something that looked a bit like the vaulting horse in gym class, except that the one in gym didn't have straps on it. There was a cross on one wall, and a couple of cages of different sizes. One of these, something like a giant birdcage, had a naked woman in it, dancing for an audience of leering men. Her bare skin was heavily marked with bruises and welts. A man hung from a pair of manacles chained to the ceiling, his shirt torn from a recent whipping, his head slumped down in apparent unconsciousness. 

"I'll have a coke," Derek said, his voice making Stiles jump slightly. He sounded so calm, despite the horrors around them. Stiles knew that Derek wanted to investigate properly, but it should be obvious that this place was bad news. Unless Derek's werewolf senses were telling him something different? 

"We do have some cocktails," the barman said, "mixed with a special ingredient that makes them effective on werewolves." 

"Maybe later," Derek said. "I don't want to lose my focus and kill my new pet by accident when we start playing. They're so fragile." 

The barman gave a chuckle. "Plenty more where that one came from, but it's your choice. One coke coming up." 

That had to be enough evidence, Stiles hoped. Derek would drink his coke as quickly as possible and then they'd make their escape. Right? 

Across the room, a huge man was towing the penis ring guy over to the vault horse. He lifted the poor human up and dumped him on top of it. The human was crying, shaking his head, pleading, but the other man strapped him down, buckling each limb to a leg of the horse and tightening another strap across his back. If Stiles had his limbs free, he would have rushed over and tried to do something, no matter what manner of supernatural creature might be. Stiles didn't understand how Derek wasn't reacting, how he wasn't already calling in the cavalry and started to set these people free. 

"Who's first?" called out the man who'd tied the guy down. Another man came over, already unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. It was obvious what was about to happen. 

Stiles looked up at Derek, pleading for him to do something, to help. Derek calmly sipped at his coke, eyes on the scene. After a moment, he glanced down at Stiles. 

"Maybe I'll give you a turn on that later," Derek said. The words that stuck with Stiles were 'maybe' and 'later'. Logically, Stiles knew it made sense. They were alone here, heavily outnumbered. These people could be alpha werewolves or something worse. Derek was only doing the sensible thing in waiting. After all, the plan had been to find out what this place was and then call in the others to attack it, so Stiles had to remember that this was just phase one. Stiles tried to stay calm, and reassured himself that Derek was staring intently at the scene. He was probably committing to memory the faces of all those who were partaking in this rape so that he could rip them apart later. 

Later. 

Stiles repeated that word to himself. Whatever horrible things they saw now, they would get revenge for later. They could come back with a pack, with an army, and shut this place down, freeing all these people and stopping these monsters from hurting them any further. 

When Derek set down his empty glass and stood, Stiles hoped that they were leaving. He wanted to get out of here, to get far enough away from Derek to call Scott of Stiles' dad or someone who could bring the weight of justice down on this vile place. But instead, Derek led Stiles to the stairs and up to the next floor. Gathering more evidence? Or scoping out the layout of the place so that they'd be prepared when the time came to attack? 

The upper floor was a large shop, filled with bondage gear and torture equipment, shelves of the stuff stretching across the whole space. Stiles could only see the lower shelves, but he saw gags and paddles and chains and whips and blades. There were things made of leather and metal, with spikes that would dig into intimate areas. Derek walked slowly along the aisles and Stiles saw enough implements of pain to give him a whole new set of nightmares. 

"Can I help you find anything?" a female voice asked. Stiles got a glimpse of long boots with ridiculously high heels. 

"I've got a new pet," Derek said, "and I thought I might get some new toys to go with it." 

"Anything in particular?" 

"I'm looking for training plugs. He's not done much with his ass before, so I need to work him up to a suitable size." 

"We have a large selection. Are you looking for more with tails? Or without?" 

"A mixture I think, and some options for fun and punishment." 

Stiles crawled along at Derek's heels into the butt plug section, and then knelt there while Derek and the shop assistant had a long conversation about vibrating plugs and those with a remote activated electroshock feature, as well as different size options. Some of the plugs Stiles could see were enormous, looking more like traffic cones than something that ought to be inside someone. His ass closed around the plug in his rear, which felt tiny in comparison, and he tried to remind himself that Derek was just playing a character. He didn't actually intend to use any of these things on Stiles. 

At last, Derek settled on a few items, including the electroshock plug, and asked for the shop assistant to take them to the counter for him, along with some enema kits. She did so, and Derek continued browsing, Stiles trailing after him. Stiles was sure the scent of his fear must be obvious to Derek. When could they get out of here? Stiles didn't want to listen to people talking about electrocuting his ass anymore. He wanted this thing to be over with. He wanted to go home. 

"That is a thing of beauty," Derek said, stopping at one of the displays. Stiles sat back into a kneeling position so he could look as Derek lifted down a monstrosity of metal from the shelf. It was made of metal bands that would fit around a person's head and neck, with a metal plate over the mouth and a spiky gag that would make the gag currently making Stiles' jaw ache seem positively tame. The spikes would press into his tongue and the roof of his mouth, making speech impossible and probably hurting every minute. The metal bands would dig into his skin unlike the leather of the mask. Just wearing that thing for five minutes would be a torture. 

The shop assistant had returned, and Derek said, "I have to have this. I think even this one would learn not to talk if I had this as punishment." 

He sounded so sincere, so enthusiastic that it was hard to remember that this was all an act. 

"Of course," the shop assistant said, taking the head cage from Derek. 

"And I think I will need a few more gags. Something breathable that he can sleep in, and something to help him with deep throating. Definitely an open mouth gag so I can make use of him." 

The shop assistant started making suggestions and Derek asked questions. It was feeling more real with every moment. Stiles felt the gag inside his mouth, the aching in his jaw, and imagined never being able to close his mouth properly again, imagined never being able to speak again. The thought was almost enough to set him trembling. It was no longer so easy to put his trust in Derek because the man standing beside him, talking about cutting off Stiles' voice forever, was acting so utterly unlike Derek. Stiles began to be genuinely afraid. What if Derek was enchanted? What if someone was controlling him, making him act so strangely? With each second that passed, with Derek acting so uncaring about his distress, it became harder to hold onto that promise he'd made back at the car.


	4. Chapter 4

Derek finally finished up in the shop, after having sent a large number of items to the counter. Stiles knew Derek had money, but it seemed ridiculous to spend this much on an act. Unless Derek was trying to draw the attention of someone high up in this place, wanting to draw them out by seeming like someone worth smoozing up to. Derek paid for gags and butt plugs, restraints, and what the shop assistant described as punishment tools but which Stiles would describe as instruments of torture. From his position on the floor, Stiles couldn't see the total, but it had to be high. Derek thanked the shop assistant and asked that most of his purchases be set aside for him to collect when he was ready to leave, but he took a few items with him, saying he would use them on his pet later. 

Stiles couldn't see what was in the plastic bag that Derek took, but at least the bag was small enough that the chosen toys couldn't possibly include that monstrous head cage. Stiles didn't want to think about which of the other items Derek might have chosen. Stiles didn't want any of them anywhere near him. 

"Come, pet," Derek said, and started walking again, not towards the stairs but towards another door. Stiles tried to remember what the guy at the door had said about what else was on the second floor, but it was only when Stiles crawled through the doorway and saw the room's contents that he remembered: a tattoo parlour. There was a woman strapped into one of the two chairs, wearing only a short skirt and a muzzle, while a tattooed man inked the word 'slut' across her breasts. An older tattoo had the words 'insert here' across her stomach and an arrow pointing towards her crotch. She was crying, whether from pain or from humiliation, Stiles couldn't tell. 

Stiles tried to back away, tried crawling out of the door again, tugging at the leash in Derek's hand. Derek smirked down at him. 

"Don't struggle, pet," Derek said. "Remember what I promised you." 

No one else here would know what the promise was. They might think Derek had promised a punishment or a marking or that Stiles would be tortured if he tried to resist. Only Stiles knew the real promise. Once again, he reminded himself that he trusted Derek, and let himself be pulled into the room. There were designs on the walls, photographs of previous victims, with cruel or hurtful tattoos marking their skins. As well as the tattoos, there were pictures of piercings in places that no metal should pierce. Stiles felt sick at the sight of them and wondered what would happen if he vomited into his gag. 

Derek grabbed Stiles round the waist and lifted him from the ground with no apparent effort, dumping him onto the empty chair. Stiles struggled as Derek pressed his back against the leather, his thighs stretching uncomfortably from the position as his lower legs were still bound under him. 

Stiles tried to shove Derek away with his mitted fists, but he was no match for werewolf strength. Derek didn't even seem to notice Stiles' efforts as he fastened a belt around Stiles' waist and pulled it tied, trapping him against the chair. It took less than a minute for Derek to strap Stiles' wrists to the arms of the chair, and then to fasten another strap around his neck, over the collar that was already there. Stiles was forced to stop struggling otherwise he'd strangle himself. 

There were tears in his eyes and he tried to meet Derek's gaze, tried to send a silent message that this was too much, that he hadn't agreed to this. Derek didn't appear to care. 

"I'll be with you in a few minutes," the tattoo artist said. 

"Oh, don't worry about that," Derek replied. "I would rather do this myself. I don't like other people touching my things. I just need to use some of your equipment." 

At a wave of permission, Derek went over to a set of drawers and opened them, searching through for the items he wanted. Stiles tried to protest, his words of complain muffled and meaningless through the gag. Derek returned, clutching little sterile packets in one hand. His other hand, he placed against the side of Stiles' head, petting him like he was soothing a distressed animal. 

"Hush, pet," Derek said. "This will happen whether you like it or not. Better to just accept it." 

He reached for the zipper of the catsuit, unzipping it down from neck to where the band of the chastity belt wrapped around Stiles' waist. Derek pushed the leather aside, exposing Stiles' chest. Stiles shook his head as best he could given the restraints as Derek opened one of the packets and starting rubbing Stiles' nipples with the damp bit of cloth that had been inside. Derek teased the nipples into hard nubs even as he sterilised the skin. 

When Derek opened the packet containing the piercing needle, Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't watch this. He couldn't witness this betrayal, this act he would never have consented to. 

There was a sharp sting of pain as the needle went through his sensitive flesh, then another sensation, the pain less intense but more drawn out, as something was pulled through the needle's hole. Stiles kept his eyes tightly shut, trying to believe that this was a trick, a deception to make the act seem more real, but the pain was real, the metal intrusions in his nipples were real. Derek's hand against his chest holding his still was real. 

When Derek's hands moved away, Stiles was still shaking with tears, the pain now a throbbing ache in his nipples. Something rested against his bare skin. 

"Open your eyes, pet," Derek said. "Look at your gifts." When Stiles' eyes stayed shut, Derek's fingers went to the strange thing across his chest and then Stiles felt the sharp pain shoot through both nipples at once. His eyes flung open. 

Derek held a mirror so that Stiles could more easily see his chest. There was a thick ring through each nipple and, hanging between the two rings, a length of chain. Derek gave the chain a light tug and Stiles cried out into his gag at the pain that seemed to radiated through his chest like something was on fire inside his skin. 

"Don't you like your new presents, pet?" Derek asked. "I'm sure you will in time. I'm sure you'll appreciate them when you realise the other parts of your anatomy I could have decorated." He brushed a hand against the metal of the chastity belt. 

Stiles just shook his head. This wasn't Derek. Derek would never have broken his trust like this. 

Derek zipped the catsuit shut again, the tight leather pressing against the piercings, sending the pain spiking yet again. Every sob seemed to press Stiles nipples into it so that the pain could never fade. Derek turned away, unconcerned. 

"How much do I owe you for the needles and the use of the chair?" he asked the tattoo artist. 

When Derek had paid up, he unstrapped Stiles and lifted him down. Stiles struggled onto his shaking limbs as Derek gave a tug on the leash. Stiles followed, towed along by the collar, each movement rubbing his sore nipples against the suit, a constant reminder of the pain. 

"You should thank me for my mercy," Derek said, tugging again to make Stiles hurry. "I could have attached the leash to the nipple chain." 

Stiles didn't want to think about the levels of pain that would cause. 

When they reached the stairs, Stiles looked down them, wondering how on earth he was supposed to get down them in his current state, when Derek said, in an air that suggested he was being overly considerate, "You may go down backwards, if you prefer." 

Stiles turned around and began crawling slowly down, terrified at every moment that he might slip and break his neck. Right now, he didn't trust Derek to catch him if he fell.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek took him back to the room they'd started in, still holding the shopping bag from earlier. He'd taken the rings and chain from it, but there was still something inside to give it weight. There were people still milling about and talking, sitting at the tables, their human prisoners kneeling beside them, or being used as footrests, or being bent over furniture and violently taken. The bench that the other human had been strapped to earlier was now deserted and Derek tugged on the leash, forcing over to it. Stiles shook his head, silently pleading, but Derek didn't seem to notice. 

Derek fiddled with the legs, adjusting the height. Once he was satisfied, Derek lifted him up and dumped him onto the slightly padded top, Stiles' bound legs were unable to reach the ground, flailing slightly in the air. Stiles didn't dare try to struggle, because he might topple off this thing and he wouldn't be able to stop himself hitting the hard ground. So he lay there, shaking his head, his complaints swallowed by his gag, as Derek tightened the strap across his back, and then fastened his wrists to the front pair of legs. Then Derek undid the straps that held Stiles' lower legs in place. His legs fell straight, cramping at the sudden movement after so long restrained, but the freedom didn't buy Stiles anything because Derek was quick to apply new straps, tying each leg to the leg of the bench. Stiles stood with his feet spread wide, his chest resting against its top, his head dangling at one end and his ass raised and exposed at the other. 

The only thing that could possibly be considered a mercy about this thing was that the top was just narrow enough that his nipples weren't pressed against it. He could feel the chain digging into his skin, but at least his newly pierced nipples didn't face any further torment. 

Derek rubbed a hand over Stiles' ass, squeezing through the leather. 

He brought his hand down in a sharp slap that rang out above the noise of voices. Stiles gave a muffled cry into his gag, more surprised than hurt. 

"You were very ungrateful about my presents," Derek said. He brought his hand down on Stiles' other ass cheek, making him yelp again. "I think it's only right that you get to try another of my purchases, to see if you like it any better." 

He came round to the front of the bench and lifted an item from the shopping bag. It was a wooden paddle, perhaps a foot long and three inches wide, smooth and polished. 

Stiles stared up at Derek, pleading with his eyes, shaking his head. His vision was once again blurred by tears. Derek reached out and cupped the side of Stiles' face, smiling slightly as he looked down on him. 

"Don't look at me like that, pet. I did promise you I would let you have a turn on this bench." Derek had also promised a lot of things he appeared to have forgotten. 

"I don't want to damage your lovely tail," Derek continued, "so I thought we might swap it for this one and give you a little fun as well." 

Derek shifted the paddle into the hand that held the bag so that he could reach in and pull out a new item. It was another butt plug, still in its packaging. It was a little larger than the one Stiles was currently wearing, and the cheerful lettering on the packet promised powerful vibrations. Derek gave him plenty of time to read the label, and then walked out of Stiles' view again. There was nothing Stiles could do, no way he could stop this. 

The plug slid out of his rear, leaving him feeling strangle empty for a moment, but only for a moment. Then there was a squirt of liquid into his hole and warm fingers slid inside, stretching and lubricating. 

"You should be grateful I'm taking the time to prepare you properly, pet," Derek said. "Some masters wouldn't be so generous." 

He slid the plug inside. It filled Stiles up, pressing inside him. When the vibrations started, singing out inside him, his cock stirred in response, his body responding to the physical stimulus despite the protests of his mind. His cock tried to grow inside the confines of its metal prison. 

"There," Derek said. "You get to have your fun. Now I get to have mine." 

Stiles closed his eyes in humiliation and braced himself for the pain. 

It came with a hard smack against his rear, then another, then another. The first few didn't seem so bad, but the pain didn't have time to diminish between blows, so each strike of the paddle added another layer to the one before. But worse than the pain was the plug and the way it moved, seeming to thrust into Stiles with every blow of the paddle, the movement and the vibration still trying to cause arousal even while Stiles' ass burned. The chastity device held him tightly, kept any possibility of pleasure at bay and all Stiles could do was writhe helpless in his restraints. 

When at last Derek set the paddle aside and pulled the plug from Stiles' rear, Stiles gave a small sob of relief into his gag. But then something else was thrusting inside him, warm and thick and alive. Derek ploughed into him roughly, not caring about the impact of his body against Stiles' tortured rear. He thrust hard and fast, coming quickly with wet spurts inside Stiles' ass. When he pulled out, he slid the larger of the butt plugs back inside and left its vibrations running.


	6. Chapter 6

"Why beat it through the leather?" a voice asked from somewhere behind Stiles. "Why not strip it and beat its bare skin? Much more effective that way." 

"This is a new pet," Derek replied. "I prefer to ease my playthings in gently." He gave a squeeze on Stiles' bruised ass that was anything but gentle. "I find I get better behaviour from them when they know things could be so much worse, when they know that the next infraction will hurt more than the last. This way, they know that if they do what they're told, I can be merciful." 

Stiles swore into his gag, the word unidentifiable but his tone and the anger in his eyes unmistakable. The stranger, a tall, slender man, came round to the front of the bench and looked down at Stiles. 

"It doesn't seem to be grateful for your mercy," he said. "Perhaps you should let me show you what pain another can inflict." 

"No, thank you. I don't like other people playing with my toys." 

The stranger looked at Derek and sniffed the air. 

"Ah," he said. "Werewolf. No one is quite like a werewolf for marking territory." 

"And this one is my territory," Derek said, "and I would like no marks on him but mine. I wouldn't mind playing with you on one of the others. We could give my pet a show, but first, let me free up the bench for the next master."

He undid the leg straps first, and refastened Stiles' legs into their earlier position. Only when Stiles was once again unable to stand did Derek undo the other straps and lift him down. Derek dropped the paddle and the old butt plug into his shopping bag and returned to the bar, where the stranger was waiting. They ordered drinks, Derek opting to try one of the special brews, a purple cocktail in a narrow glass. They sat together while Stiles knelt beside them and tried not to let his ankles press against his ass because of the bruising. Watching them drink, he became aware of his own thirst. His mouth was dry around his gag, the unpleasant taste of rubber pressing against his tongue. He couldn't ask for a drink and he didn't want to think what Derek might do to him if he could. All he could was kneel and listen while they discussed possible humans to torture. 

A pale woman, who might have been a vampire, was offering to let others take her pet down to the private rooms for an hour for only ten bucks. The pet in question was a sickly-looking girl wearing a short, leather skirt and chains that wrapped around her breasts like a mockery of a bra. Derek and the stranger went over to the woman and made the deal. The girl didn't seem to care. She stared ahead of her in a vacant, glassy-eyed way. The stranger hooked a finger through the girl's chain bra and led the way, Derek lugging on the leash to make Stiles follow. 

This time, Derek didn't stop at the stairs to let Stiles turn around, he just kept walking. Crawling down those stairs face-first, with his legs bound and mitts on his fists, and the plug vibrating away in his ass, was somehow the most terrifying piece of this night. Every stair, Stiles was worried that his knee or fist might slip and that he might go tumbling down the rest of the way. The leash, taught against his collar, kept him from being as careful as he would have liked, and he was lucky not to be a trembling wreck by the time he finally reached the bottom. Stiles crawled along, grateful to be on a flat surface again, between rows of doors. 

The stranger had already slid a credit card into a slot by one of the doors and it opened for him. He pushed the girl inside and then held the door for Derek. There were manacles in the centre of the room, another bench like the one upstairs, and one shaped like an upside-down V that a person could be strapped over, and a piece of furniture like a pair of steps. More intimidating than the furnishings were the shelves and racks that lined the walls, decorated with all manner of whips and paddles and hitting instruments. The stranger picked up a cane and flicked it through the air. Stiles winced at the noise but the girl didn't react at all. 

Derek took Stiles over to the pair of steps and had Stiles kneel up on the lower step and bend forward over the upper one. This was wide and deep enough for Stiles' entire chest to press against it and he grave a cry of pain as his nipples reminded him of their earlier torment. Derek just strapped Stiles' wrists to the base of the steps and turned the contraption so that Stiles was facing the centre of the room, where the stranger was finishing fastening the girl's wrists into the manacles. 

"Watch carefully, pet," Derek told him, then he went to take a riding crop from one of the racks. 

He swung it hard against the girl's legs several times in quick succession. She swayed in place from the impact and red lines quickly showed against the pale skin of her thighs, but didn't cry out. The stranger swung his cane against her back, leaving more red lines, some that showed pricks of blood where the cane broke skin. The girl moved with each hit but returned to her position as though she hadn't felt anything. 

"This is disappointing," Derek said. 

"No wonder its mistress charged so little for it," the stranger agreed. He moved around her and swung his cane against her breasts, again and again. Derek set aside his crop and went for a whip. The stranger moved back to avoid any risk of getting hit and Derek swung the whip with a sharp crack of leather and laid a bleeding gash across the girl's back. Still no reaction. Derek swung a few more times, growing obviously frustrated. 

"A complete thrall," he complained. "I doubt she can even tell what's happening to her." 

"This one's not going to be any fun. Are you sure we can't play with yours?" 

"I still don't want someone else playing with him," Derek said, "but I've no objection to you watching me play. Especially since you're paying for the room." 

"I'll take this useless thing back upstairs," the stranger said. "Don't get started without me." 

"I wouldn't dream of it." 

The stranger undid the manacles and roughly towed the girl from the room. Derek bent down in front of Stiles, petting his face again, even as Stiles tried to shake his head. Stiles tried to say, "You promised," and it seemed that Derek understood what he was trying to say despite the gag. 

"Ah, pet," Derek said, smiling in a way that Derek would never smile, "if you'd payed attention, you would have noticed that I promised not to let anyone _else_ hurt you. I never said I wouldn't hurt you myself." 

Stiles screamed and sword into his gag. He thought back on the words and wondered if this was true, if Derek had left himself this gaping loophole in the promise. He couldn't believe he'd fallen for this. He couldn't believe he'd ever agreed to it. 

"Quiet now," Derek said, "or I'll be forced to fetch the punishment gag. If you make me interrupt my play you'll truly regret it." 

Stiles thought about the headcage and its spiked, metal gag. He thought of the words Derek had said about making each infraction hurt more than the one before. His screams diminished to quiet sobs and Derek smiled at him again, apparently pleased with this reaction. 

"You'll get used to your place soon enough, pet," Derek said. He pulled the steps and Stiles closer to the centre of the room and then took his time inspecting the shelves, looking at his options. As the stranger returned to the room, Derek took up a length of cane and Stiles' eyes went wide at the sight, remember the way it had marked that girl's skin. 

"Oh, don't look so scared, pet," Derek said. "You're wearing that catsuit. You'll barely even feel the whipping with that leather protecting you." 

He moved back behind Stiles. There was a swish of air and then a line of fire lay across Stiles' back and his chest pressed his tortured nipples into the top of the step. He was assaulted with agony from both sides. 

"Very low threshold for pain," the stranger commented. 

"We'll work on that," Derek answered, "but I did pierce his nipples earlier tonight. I expect that's part of what he's complaining about." 

He swung the cane again. Again, Stiles screamed. 

Despite whatever protection the catsuit gave him, each blow of the cane fell like someone was laying hot wire against his skin and each blow pushed him into the steps, pressing his tortured nipples into the hard surface. Stiles screamed and sobbed and attempted to beg. He bit down on the gag so hard he was surprised it didn't break off in his mouth. He cried out against the pain as blow after blow fell. His back burned all over and he wouldn't have been surprised if his skin peeled off with the leather later when the catsuit was removed. 

When Derek finally stopped, Stiles could barely breathe. His nostrils were clogged with snot from all his crying and the gagged still stuffed his mouth. He wheezed and fought for air through the rubber. He wondered if he would die here, choking on his own tears. 

But Derek seemed to notice. He pulled the mask's laces free from the collar, loosening them until he could pull the mask over Stiles' head. The gag slipped from Stiles' mouth and all he could do for a minute was gasp for oxygen. Derek moved away from a moment and returned with a box of tissues to wipe the snot from Stiles' nose. He didn't bother wiping away the tears. 

"Please," Stiles begged, in a voice weak and croaking. "Please, Derek." 

Derek laughed. "Haven't you figured it out yet? And I thought you were so smart." 

"You're not Derek," Stiles said. 

"Of course not. Derek would never let you within a mile of a place like this. He cares about you, you know." 

"Who are you?" 

"I'm disappointed, Stiles. After all, I did tell you I liked you." 

The man who wasn't Derek reached under his shirt and pulled out an amulet that gave off a faint glow. He pulled it over his head and his features blurred and shifted, his face reshaping itself into another configuration of features, one that Stiles knew too well. 

"We're going to have so much fun together," Peter Hale said.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles swore and tugged at the restraints around his wrists, fighting despite the pain he was in. 

"You bastard! You lying, asshole bastard!" 

"Careful, pet," Peter said, "you shouldn't use words like that or I'll have to punish you. In fact, I should punish you anyway for speaking without permission." 

"I'm going to kill you for this," Stiles snarled. 

"You already tried that once." 

"I'll do it again. I'll set you on fire and cut you to bits and bury you in a hundred different graves and I'll dissolve whatever's left in acid so that you can't come back ever again." 

Across the room, the stranger chuckled. "Quite a mouth of it, this one." 

"Now you see why I invested so heavily in gags," Peter said. "On that subject, I bought a number of items earlier and I think my new pet has earned the use of one of them. Would you mind going up to the shop and getting the punishment gag I bought?" 

"Not a problem," the stranger said. 

"Here," Derek fished in a pocket, and brought out a receipt, "you might need this." 

The stranger left them alone again and Stiles' angry protests turned to whimpers of fear at the thought of that metal gag. 

"Please, Peter, please just let me go. I won't tell anyone about this. I won't tell my dad. But you know if you keep hurting me, my dad will find you and he'll destroy. Please, just do yourself a favour and let me go." 

"Oh, pet," Peter said, "you should have realised that no one's coming to save you. You're mine, now and forever, and the first thing you should learn," he swung his hand, palm open, and caught the side of Stiles' face in a slap that made his head ring, "is to accept your new position. I am your master and you are my pet. On the rare occasions when I grant you liberty to speak, you will need to remember that, or you will earn a punishment. Now, what am I?" 

"A sick bastard who we should have buried deeper." 

Stiles was expecting the slap this time, but that didn't make it hurt any less. The side of his face stung with the impact and it felt like the blow shook his thoughts loose from his head for a few moments. 

The door to the room opened and the stranger returned, holding the hideous creation of metal and pain. 

"Let's try that again," Peter said. "What am I?" 

"An evil monster who deserves whatever my dad or Argents or anyone else does to you in punishment for this." 

Peter gave a disappointed sigh and held out his hand towards the stranger, who handed over the punishment gag. 

"I am your master," Peter said. "This is your last chance. Say it." 

Stiles stared at the thing, wanting to make sure that it never came near his head but knowing that Peter was sick enough that it probably would anyway, no matter what he said or did. 

"Go to hell," Stiles said. Peter unfastened the clasps that held the metal bands closed and he fitted the thing around Stiles' head, forcing his mouth open to get the gag inside. The spikes weren't sharp, but they pressed into his tongue and the roof of his mouth, forcing him to keep his mouth slightly open. Stiles tried to open his mouth wide enough that the spikes didn't press at all, but there was a metal band that ran under his jaw and fastened to another that went over the top of his head. Peter clipped this together and twisted a small screw to tighten them until the spikes applied a painful pressure. There were other metal bands. One ran from the front of the gag piece round the back of Stiles' head, another ran round from his forehead. Another was shaped to go over his nose and over his cheeks before closing with the others at the back of his head. 

Peter had to unlock Stiles' collar and remove the band of leather so he could close the metal collar that locked around Stiles' neck. The collar was thick enough to restrict movement and the whole thing was heavy enough that Stiles felt like his whole head was being dragged down to the floor. Peter twisted a few final screws, pulling the bands tight enough to press uncomfortably against his skin, squeezing against his head. It wasn't as painful as the caning had been, or the piercings, but it was still painful and as Peter slipped the padlock through the clasp of one of the straps and clicked it shut, Stiles knew it was a pain that wouldn't end any time soon. 

"Let's see," Peter said, "you spoke without permission, so that's one. You called me a bastard three times and an asshole once, which makes five. You told me to go to hell, which gives us six. You threatened to kill me which takes us to seven, but I think I can let you off for calling me evil, given the circumstances. So seven then. You will wear the punishment gag for seven days," Peter checked his watch, "and not a minute less." 

Stiles tried to say something, tried to plead for mercy, but even the slightest attempt to move his mouth or tongue caused pressure against the spikes of the gag or the metal band around his jaw, or both. 

"Oh, pet," Peter ruffled Stiles' hair through the bands of metal, "you really should have called me master. I would have taken a day off your punishment if you had done." 

Stiles glared at him, trying to communicate silently all the hate he felt. 

"As it is," Peter said, "you have seven days in this before I let you switch to a less painful gag. We'll see if this teaches you to be more careful with your words." 

Peter looked over at the stranger, "Thank you for your help, and for the room. Next time, I'll let you have a turn giving him a beating." 

"I look forward to it," the stranger said. He and Peter shook hands on the bargain, and then Peter crouched to undo the straps holding Stiles in place. He took the leash and clipped it to the collar of the punishment gag and tugged, urging him from the steps. 

"Come, pet," Peter said. "Time to get you home. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow." 

Peter replaced the cane on the rack and picked up his belongings and dropped them into the shopping bag before leading Stiles from the room. The tears flowed freely as Stiles struggled up the stairs after Peter, pain filling his head and ass and back and chest. This was only the start. He knew Peter well enough to believe him capable of further torture. 

Stiles crawled after Peter out into the parking lot, towards the car. As Peter lifted him into the trunk, his arms pressed against the bruises he'd inflicted earlier. Then Peter was smiling down at him. 

"I have to go fetch the rest of the toys I bought for you," Peter said, "but don't worry, I'll soon have you to your new home." 

Peter slammed the trunk shut, leaving Stiles trapped in darkness once again, with only the vibrations of the butt plug in his rear to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed the fic. Thank you to everyone who left comments. 
> 
> This is intended to be the first of a series. There will be some more stories of horrible things happening to Stiles. For those of you waiting for happy endings or Derek to come to the rescue... you may have to wait for at least another couple of fics first.


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